Chapter Text
Annoyingly, when Éponine wakes up on Sunday morning, her peaceful hangover is immediately interrupted by the chilling realisation that her phone is missing. She realises it's not under her pillow, which is smeared with a good amount of last night's make up, and when she checks her bag and the pockets of her jacket, abandoned beside the front door of her studio apartment, it's not there either.
God, she's never drinking with Bahorel and Jehan again.
Groaning and trying very carefully not to panic, she sits down on her unmade bed again and pulls her laptop out from under her bed. She’s pretty sure she has a tracker on it, or maybe someone will have found it and sent her a message, or-
To her relief, when she checks her Facebook messages, she has one from Grantaire.
You left your phone here you dumb drunken bitch xo
Rich, coming from him, Éponine thinks with an eye roll, but the knot in her chest has loosened. She really needs her phone. Now that she no longer lives with Gavroche and Azelma, she’s in a constant state of worry about getting in contact with them.
She reads on. I know you need it. I’m not gonna finish in here until like five am, but Enjolras should be awake tomorrow morning if you wanna come get it when you see this. You owe me big time.
Honestly, all he did was grab her phone off the counter and bring it home with him after his shift at the Musain, it doesn’t exactly qualify as a big time favour in Éponine’s opinion. But she’s so relieved that she silently vows as she puts her sneakers on to buy Grantaire as many pastries as he wants. Éponine has known Grantaire for a long time; a pain au raisin and a pack of cigarettes should be enough to keep him happy.
She leaves her apartment, choosing to walk the thirty minutes to Enjolras and Grantaire’s apartment rather than getting the metro, hoping the exercise will help clear her foggy head. The two of them have an apartment in the nice part of town, owned by Enjolras’ parents. She doesn’t know what rent he pays, if any, and God knows she’s not close enough with Enjolras to outright ask. Éponine has been in it a fair few times to hang out with Grantaire, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t jealous of the space, the light, the multiple spare bedrooms, the small iron balcony looking onto the street.
When she reaches the building, she hesitates at the intercom, considering if it would be easier to call Enjolras so the noise doesn’t wake Grantaire up. Then she remembers she doesn’t have her phone, so it’s a moot point. She’s kind of glad for it though. Most of the few conversations Éponine has had with Grantaire’s boyfriend have been stilted at best, and wildly tense at worst. She can’t imagine a brief phone conversation would be any different.
She presses the button for their apartment several times, and to her surprise, it’s Grantaire’s voice which answers with a fuzzy sounding “Hello?”
"It's me," she says simply, and Grantaire doesn't say a word, but there's a buzzing noise and she's able to pull the heavy door open. Grantaire is waiting for her at the open door of his apartment, wearing only a pair of ratty sweatpants and flip flops, his hair an unruly mess. He has several days worth of stubble, and greets her with a yawn so wide she can see his molars.
"Thought you would still be dead to the world," Éponine says as she steps into the apartment.
Grantaire grumbles. "I was supposed to be, but my drunken best friend insisted on leaving her phone in my place of work like some sort of moron."
Éponine rolls her eyes, looking around the open plan apartment. "Enjolras not around?"
Grantaire shrugs, but he's smiling softly now. He seems to be incapable of holding a smile back, where Enjolras is concerned. His hand comes up to his neck, running his fingers softly over a small, dark mark which very well could be a hickey, and Éponine just barely resists the urge to make an exaggerated gagging noise.
"I heard him getting up earlier, think he might have gone for a run or something."
She wrinkles her nose. "Who does exercise at 9am on a Sunday morning?"
"I know right? He's a weirdo."
"You know, those words kind of lose their effect if you smile like a sap when you say them," she tells him, and then bats away the middle finger he waves in her face.
"Yeah, yeah," he yawns, scratches the skin of his arm near his most recently healed tattoo, and goes to the counter. He picks up her phone and throws it in her general direction, and she gives a sigh of relief, clutching it to her chest before unlocking it. There's 2% battery left, and no missed calls from Gavroche or Azelma, so disaster has been avoided this time around.
"Thanks, R," she tells him seriously, "I owe you one."
He snorts, shoving her shoulder lightly as they move towards the door. "No worries. I'll see you in a few days at the meeting, yeah?"
Éponine resists the urge to roll her eyes. Grantaire is her best friend, so she's willing to make sacrifices for him, including going to his incredibly self-righteous boyfriend's social justice meetings for no other reason than he wants someone to sit at the back with, so they can look at each other like they're a camera on The Office. They used to have a drinking game; Drink every time Enjolras says something stupidly idealistic.
They used to get super drunk.
"Get some sleep, R," she tells him, before opening the door and stepping into the hallway, subsequently nearly colliding with the two people standing on the other side.
They're two people in their middle age, the man tall and thin with a thick head of grey hair and piercing blue eyes, the woman blonde and immaculately dressed in a cream dress suit, chiffon scarf and stilettos, expensive handbag slung over one arm. They both seem vaguely familiar, but Éponine doesn't think she's ever met them before.
"Oh, sorry!" she stammers out quickly, referring to the fact that she'd almost knocked the woman off her feet.
Neither of them say anything, staring silently between Éponine and Grantaire. She looks to Grantaire, who has his eyes narrowed as though he too is struggling to place where he's seen their faces before.
After another few beats of silence, Grantaire says in a voice of forced patience, "Can I help you with something?"
This seems to awaken something in the man, and he steps closer to the door of the apartment.
"Who are you?" he asks coldly, Éponine doesn't think he's from Paris; the accent sounds southern.
Grantaire blinks, and then he glares too.
"I'm Grantaire. Who the hell are you?"
"We're-"
"Mom? Dad?"
Éponine hears the voice just before Enjolras comes into view. He's dressed for a run, in shorts and a t-shirt with his hair pulled back and headphones around his neck, but he has a brown paper bag with the emblem for Grantaire's favourite bakery on the front. He's staring at the two people in the doorway with an expression Éponine has never seen on his face before, but she works out quickly that it's one of abject horror.
And then his words sink in, and Éponine thinks Ah, shit.
She looks at Grantaire, and he's staring back at her with an expression of complete and total panic.
The woman turns to face Enjolras, and she says in a sugar-sweet voice. "Alex, honey. We were just in the area, and given that you've been ignoring our phone calls , we thought we'd make a surprise visit to see you, seeing as you're not going to make an effort."
Alex???
"Uh. Okay. Yeah, that's-" Éponine doesn't think she's ever seen Enjolras so panicked before. She's literally seen him handcuffed and dragged towards a police van, seen him simply look back serenely when a fascist was screaming in his face; but now, he's looking between his parents, Grantaire and Éponine with a look that almost screams of desperation.
"Who are these people?" His father asks harshly, and that's another thing, because Enjolras and Grantaire have been dating for close to a year and a half now, and yet they appear to have absolutely no idea who he is.
So, Éponine can assume that they've never been introduced.
Enjolras' eyes flash with panic at the question, but they also seem to spur him into action, because he jolts and practically barges into the apartment ahead of his parents.
"Coffee, we need coffee," he mutters, and Grantaire uses the momentary distraction of Enjolras' parents coming into the room to grab a hoodie off the back of a nearby kitchen chair and throw it haphazardly over his head. Éponine just stands there silently.
Apparently, setting up the coffee machine can only buy Enjolras so much time, because once they're both sitting down, Enjolras' mom turns to him with a calculating look in her eyes.
"This young man introduced himself as Grantaire," she says, inclining her head in R's direction. Her perfectly straight nose wrinkles just slightly, and Éponine decides she doesn't like her.
Enjolras' throat bobs as he swallows.
"Grantaire is-" he starts, "Uhm. He's-"
"I'm a friend of Enjolras'," Grantaire cuts in, and Enjolras' shoulders relax the slightest fraction, "I go to the meetings he runs. They're amazing, you should be very prou-"
"And why is he in our apartment without a shirt on?" Enjolras' father demands, as though Grantaire hadn't even spoken. His eyes are boring into Enjolras, who shifts where he stands.
Éponine decides, then, that it's probably time she intervened. For some reason, Enjolras' parents don't know about Grantaire, and it sort of seems like Enjolras isn't out of the closet at all. Éponine has had her fair share of shitty parental interactions, and she can tell by the way Enjolras' parents eyes are narrowed at Grantaire that this isn't heading anywhere good.
Grantaire is still standing there looking more than half asleep, and Enjolras looks like he's going through the seven stages of grief.
God, boys are fucking useless.
Éponine takes a deep breath, and steps forward, holding out her hand to Enjolras' parents.
"Hi, it's really lovely to finally meet you both," she says, "I'm Éponine, Enjolras' girlfriend."
Behind her, Enjolras makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. She ignores him completely.
"Grantaire works in the bar down the street, and he lives across town," she lies, "When he has a late shift, Enjolras lets him stay on the sofa rather than paying for a cab at 4 am."
As lies go, she's pretty proud of that one. But then, she's had a lot of practice. Enjolras shoots her a grateful look.
She wasn't sure how Enjolras' parents would react to the news that their son has a secret girlfriend, so she nearly jumps out of her skin when Enjolras' mom practically leaps from her chair and makes a high-pitched, giddy sound. She strides forward, and Éponine can do nothing but make a stifled 'Oof!' noise when she pulls her into her chest for a hug.
"Oh Éponine, it's so lovely to meet you!" She pulls back and gives Enjolras a disapproving look. "Alex, why didn't you tell us you had a girlfriend?!"
Enjolras looks about three seconds from passing out. "It's very, very new."
Well, that's an understatement.
The coffee machine beeps, and Enjolras' father clears his throat loudly. Enjolras turns to the kitchen cupboard, pulling out mugs. One falters and drops from his hand, bouncing against the countertop but somehow not breaking.
His father makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a scoff.
Grantaire looks at him, and then stands, walking to Enjolras and putting a hand on his lower arm.
"I'll make the coffee," he says, "Give you a chance to get showered and stuff." And, from the looks of things, have a small mental breakdown.
Enjolras shoots him a grateful look and heads for their shared bedroom, leaving Grantaire and Éponine alone with his parents.
The kitchen is unnervingly silent. It's awkward.
Grantaire gives a nervous bark of laughter. "So, I can see where Enjolras gets his good looks from."
Jesus Christ. Éponine is going to kill him. And then she's going to dig him up and revive him so Enjolras can kill him. For now, she settles for jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow as he’s setting her coffee down in front of her. He swears under his breath, and Enjolras’ father glares even more severely, and offers only a curt nod when Grantaire sets the coffees, milk and sugar in front of him.
"So, Éponine, how long have you and Alexandre been together?" His mother is looking at Éponine like she hangs the stars in the sky. It's slightly unnerving and extremely creepy.
"Uh," she flounders, "Really not very long at all.” Ha, she thinks, if only they knew.
When his mother continues to stare at her, she adds, “A few..Weeks, maybe?”
Enjolras’ mother smiles even wider, if that’s possible. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you. Alex has never mentioned a girl before, or brought anyone to meet us. It’s the strangest thing, I’m starting to think he wants to keep all his relationships a secret.”
Grantaire snorts into his coffee cup, and finally Enjolras’ mom stops staring at Éponine for a moment, so she can glare at him.
“Where are you from, Éponine?” Enjolras’ father asks suddenly, and when Éponine looks at him he’s staring at her intently, as though he’s examined her from head to toe and found her lacking.
“Uh. I’m from Montfermeil, sir,” she answers, and she doesn’t miss the way both of their noses wrinkle in disgust, the same way Enjolras’ mother’s had when she looked at Grantaire. God, if Éponine mentions she’s from les Bosquets specifically they’ll probably both collapse.
“And your parents? Are they from there too?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“And what do they do?”
God, what is with the third degree? Éponine thinks, bravely resisting the urge to give him the finger instead of answering. If Enjolras gets this every time he’s in the same room as his parents, it’s no wonder he seems to want to be as far away from them as possible.
"They used to own an inn," she says bluntly, really wishing they'd drop the subject, because this is awkward enough already, and the last thing Éponine wants to talk about is the fact that both her parents are in prison for drug trafficking, fraud and child neglect.
“And what do they do now?”
Éponine shrugs her shoulders helplessly, wishing he could just drop it already. “I don’t know, sir.”
Enjolras’ mother raises one eyebrow coolly, and well, it’s good to know where Enjolras gets that particular expression from. “You don’t know?” she repeats sceptically.
"I-" Her throat feels dry. Grantaire nudges his knee against hers under the table in silent support, and she takes a sip of coffee to try and clear her parched throat. "I don't talk to them anymore, ma’am. I haven't in years."
Enjolras’ mother and father share a look, but blessedly, they decide to both stay silent.
The silence stretches on until Enjolras comes back from the shower. He looks a little more composed, dressed with his wet hair in a braid, a little colour back in his face.
Grantaire has left his coffee sitting on the counter, black, and Enjolras adds milk and a frankly alarming amount of sugar to it before he sinks into the kitchen chair beside Éponine, opposite his parents.
"So, not that I'm not ecstatic to see you both," he says, snark colouring every word, "But what are you actually doing here?"
“Well, we had tickets to see La Cenerentola, ” his mother says, “And given that you’ve been ignoring our calls- Very rude, by the way, darling- We thought we’d call up for an unexpected surprise, to see what havoc you’ve wrecked on our apartment!” Her eyes sweep over the, in Éponine’s opinion, perfectly tidy apartment, catching on a laundry basket, waiting to be folded. She raises an eyebrow again.
Enjolras’ smile looks more like a grimace than anything, and he sounds like he’s speaking through gritted teeth when he says, “Well, it certainly was unexpected.”
The bag of pastries he’d bought from Grantaire’s favourite bakery lies open in the middle of the table. There’s one large, buttery looking pain au raisin in the middle of the bag. Grantaire eyes it with interest, but before he can reach for it, Enjolras’ father snatches it up and takes a somehow aggressive bite out of it.
If looks could kill, the way Enjolras glares would have murdered him ten times over.
"Don't scowl like that, Alex, darling," Enjolras' mother admonishes him firmly, "You'll give yourself wrinkles before you turn twenty five."
“Also,” his father says, “You never responded to Marie’s invitation.”
Enjolras’ brow furrows in confusion. “Marie’s invitation?”
His father rolls his eyes. “About the wedding.”
Enjolras’ frowns harder, and then it seems to dawn on him what his father is talking about, and he brings a hand up to rub at his temple. “I completely forgot about that.”
“Clearly,” his father says, voice hard.
Enjolras closes his eyes and seems to mentally count to five, then opens them again and says in an even voice, “I don’t know if I’m going to make it. There’s a lot of really important events for Les Amis coming up, and-”
“Nonsense!” His mother says, “Your little club can wait. You have to be at the wedding, the whole family’s going!” Suddenly, her hand comes out, lightning quick, and wraps around Éponine’s wrist. “And you can bring Éponine, of course! She can stay with us! Your invitation has a plus one on it!”
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
“Oh no, that’s not-” Enjolras starts, the same time that Éponine spits out “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” From her left side, she hears Grantaire mutter, “Oh God,” into his coffee cup.
“Yes, very good,” Enjolras’ mom says, sitting back in her chair with a look of satisfaction on her face, “The two of you can come down and stay in the house, and go to the wedding. This is good actually, that Éponine can come. Some of the family still talk about that silly homosexual phase you decided to go through, Alexandre. It would be nice to prove to them all that there was no proof in it, just silly teenage hormones.”
What the fuck? Beside Éponine, Grantaire’s hands curl into fists on the table.
“Mom,” Enjolras says, sounding desperate, “I really don’t have time to go to a wedding. I’m really busy.”
“But Alexandre,” his mother says, and there’s a look of triumph in her eye even as she takes a sip of coffee. She sets it down, and says “Euphrasie misses you so much. ”
Who the hell is Euphrasie?
Whoever she is, she takes the wind out of Enjolras' sails. His shoulders slump and he sighs heavily, closing his eyes. From the corner of her eye, Éponine can see Grantaire watching him; he looks like he wants to do nothing more than throw Enjolras’ parents out of the apartment and pull Enjolras in for a hug.
Enjolras opens his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
Enjolras’ mother smiles, and it’s sort of uncanny how similar they look. She reaches forward and pats Enjolras’ hand where it’s lying stiffly on the table. “That’s all we ask, Alexandre.”
***
To the chagrin of everyone involved, except, apparently, Enjolras’ parents, they decide to hang around after their initial conversation. Enjolras’ father demands more coffee and turns on Grantaire, barking a question about what he studies and literally snorting when Grantaire answers that he’s an art student. Meanwhile, Éponine desperately tries to read Enjolras’ mind as his mother subjects the two of them to an interrogation of their wonderful, totally real, definitely not fake relationship.
“Éponine was saying you two haven’t been together very long,” his mother says.
“Uh, yeah,” he stammers out, “It’s been like three months, I guess?” This is followed by a bitten back swear word when Éponine stands hard on his foot.
“What he means, Madame Enjolras,” Éponine says as sweetly as she can manage, curling her hand around Enjolras’ forearm like it’s something she does everyday, and not like she’s only had about five conversations with the guy, “Is that we’ve known each other for three months.” She looks pointedly at Enjolras. “ Like I said earlier, we’ve only been dating for a few weeks at most.”
“Uh, yeah,” says Enjolras. Helpful.
Enjolras’ mother gives a tinkly, delicate laugh, tossing her long blonde hair back over one shoulder, and Éponine gets briefly distracted by the thought that great hair must run in the family.
“It’s so funny to think, your father and I were planning on introducing you to the Desfriches’ daughter, Isabelle, at the wedding,” she says.
Enjolras frowns. “You were?”
“Yes, of course. She’s supposed to be a lovely girl, and of course, your father and I go way back with her parents. There was even talk for a while of your father merging his law firm with her father’s, and I’m sure introducing the two of you would have done wonders for that arrangement. But,” she smiles at Éponine, and it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “That was before we knew about Éponine, of course.”
“Yes,” Enjolras says slowly, and for the first time in the entire conversation he sounds intrigued, “I suppose you can’t set me up with anyone now, can you?”
“It certainly seems that way, for as long as Éponine’s in the picture, anyway!” Enjolras’ mother does her strange delicate laugh again. Éponine doesn’t quite understand what exactly is meant to be so fucking funny.
Enjolras makes a non-committal “Hm,” noise, and the conversation moves on.
***
Finally, after what feels like hours of the most stilted conversation ever, but is in fact only 45 minutes, Enjolras' parents stand.
"We have to be off, darling, we have a La Cenerentola in a few hours and we wouldn't want to be late." Madame Enjolras stands, lifting her expensive handbag and twirling the chiffon scarf around her neck again. To Éponine's surprise, she strides forward and kisses her twice on each cheek.
"Well, I must say Éponine, you are an unexpected yet welcome surprise," she steps back, runs a thumb along Éponine's cheekbone, a smile on her face, and the gesture should feel warm, but it doesn't.
Madame Enjolras gives another high, girlish laugh. "I was starting to think Alex was never going to find a nice girl and settle down!"
Éponine determinately does not look at Enjolras. She does her best to force a laugh. "Well, looks like he has!"
"Hermine, we have to leave," Enjolras' father says, and his mother steps back. Enjolras kisses her stiffly on either cheek. Enjolras' father looks at him, and from first impressions he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to hug his son, but Enjolras has tensed at her side, clearly waiting on something.
His father nods curtly, and Enjolras' tensed shoulders relax a fraction of a centimetre as he nods too.
The two of them step into the corridor. His father turns, one hand closed around the handle.
"Get a damn haircut, son," he says.
Almost unconsciously, one of Enjolras' hands comes up and fiddles with the end of his braid, curled over his left shoulder.
The door slams shut, and all three of them jolt at the noise. The stony silence that follows is broken by Grantaire saying, "So. What the fuck just happened?"
"I think Enjolras just got his first girlfriend?" Éponine tries joking. No one laughs.
Instead of answering, Enjolras sinks down into one of the pushed back kitchen chairs, pushes his head into his hands and makes a long, drawn out groaning noise.
"Enj?" Grantaire says softly. He kneels down in front of the chair Enjolras is sitting in, pressing his palms flat against Enjolras' thighs. "You okay?"
Enjolras sighs shakily. He looks up from his hands and loosens the end of his braid, running both hands through his hair in agitation.
“I’m fine,” he says shortly, “I wasn’t expecting- I’m a bit-” He seems to remember then that Éponine is still standing awkwardly in the centre of the room, and abruptly stands.
“I have a headache,” he says curtly, “I’m going to lie down for a while.” And that’s even more out of character than anything else that had gone on that morning. Éponine has witnessed the combined forces of Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Grantaire just barely convincing Enjolras to go to bed for an extra hour when he had the flu.
Enjolras strides to his and Grantaire’s bedroom without another word and slams the door behind him. Grantaire sighs heavily.
“Sorry, Ép,” he says quietly, although he doesn’t look away from the closed bedroom door, “I think…I think you should just go.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” she agrees. She doesn’t know what kind of meltdown Enjolras is currently having, but she definitely doesn’t want to be around to witness it. She was meant to leave over an hour ago, anyway.
Despite no doubt wanting to check on his boyfriend, Grantaire walks her to the door again. Just before she leaves, he surprises her by pulling into his chest for a hug.
“Thanks, Ép. For covering for us,” he whispers, “I don’t know if they would have believed any story we could have thought up, especially that last minute.”
She hugs him back tight. “That’s okay. I hope I did the right thing, it was kind of hard to tell in the moment.” She steps back and clears her throat awkwardly. “I, uh. I hope Enjolras is okay.”
Grantaire nods, his mouth in a grim line. “He’ll be fine. He always has been, before.”
Éponine spends her entire walk home wondering if any of the lies she told had actually helped.